Mini Mysteries: 221b Series
by Ennui Enigma
Summary: An experiment in writing very short mysteries inspired by an eclectic perusal of real and not-so-real crime cases. No guarantee on the quality of these whodunits. Ongoing series in 221B format. Ch. 14: The Cabin Mystery. (ok to post spoilers or possible solutions in review).
1. Ch 1: Overworked & Understaffed

**Disclaimer: Don't own or benefit. Some stories might make more sense than others. Quite random. May be more than one correct answer. **

**A/N: If you want my explanation, must send me a PM or review :)**

* * *

Doctor John Watson sighed. The department stores might see a post-holiday slump in their customer numbers; not so for surgeries. There were always too many clients suffering from the seasonal cold and flu after Christmas.

"Dr. Sawyer, here's my request for bereavement leave." Debbie placed the form on her boss's desk with an apologetic smile. "I didn't know him very well but he was a good kid and I owe it to my nephew to attend his funeral."

~221B~

"She's a decent nurse although she's maxed out on her allotted annual leave this year. We need her but how can I not allow her a few days for a family funeral?" John's colleague shrugged helplessly. "It's been a rough year with her mum getting ill right after her dad's tragic heart attack. Being the only child means she bears all the responsibility when it comes to her mum's care. Can't be easy."

"It certainly isn't easy on any of us but perhaps we should have another chat with Debbie?" He looked over at his tired co-worker. "The three of us should discuss all this extra time off she's been taking. I'm suspicious there's more going on than she is telling us."

"Why, what makes you say that, John?" Sarah queried.

"For starters, I don't think she has a nephew," John began.


	2. Ch 2: A Non-traffic Accident

**A/N: Sorry for any technical errors in terminology. Don't normally write about road traffic accidents (RTA). **

* * *

When a Fatal Motor Accident is Not an Accident

"Why are you here?" Anderson whined. "This is a simple RTC. The guy was drunk. He drove off the road, hit a tree, and died. Look at the indentation and blood on the steering wheel if you don't believe me."

Sherlock peered over Anderson's shoulder and surveyed the crushed front-end of the vehicle and dead driver with a similarly crushed head. Copious amounts of blood from the wound bathed the dashboard and seat and cascaded onto the floor forming a coagulated mess that spilled over the edge of the car's door.

"What evidence have you destroyed in your investigation, so far?" the consulting detective demanded.

"I haven't destroyed any evidence, though I hardly think it's important given that this is an accident and not a crime scene," the annoyed pathologist complained.

"Did you open the door?" Sherlock ignored Anderson's comment.

"No, I didn't open the door, but I was here when the paramedics did, if you're so keen. How else were we supposed to make sure the man was dead?"

"Idiots!" Sherlock snorted. "Not worth my time! You ought to be thankful Lestrade asked me to take a look. He wondered why the airbag hadn't been triggered by a collision of this magnitude. I can tell you there's another reason this "accident" was not a simple accident. He was murdered before."


	3. Ch 3: Murder Most Fluffy

**A/N: Nothing particularly related to New Year in this piece so Happy New Year, everyone! **

* * *

Murder Most Fluffy

"Dead?!" Lestrade wasn't happy. His key witness was dead. Killed while under police protection at the hospital recovering from surgery.

John met Lestrade outside the victim's hospital room. He had been in the A&E doing a shift that night.

"How'd this happen?" Lestrade grilled the guard who was on duty. "He's under our protection. No one, except those on an approved list, was to go in or out of the room."

"I swear, only doctor H and nurse C have entered the room while I've been here," the guard maintained. "I watched them enter and exit – nothing suspicious. How was I to know one of them would murder X with his own pillow?"

John and Lestrade surveyed the crime. The victim lay dead - suffocated. In spite of his post-anaesthesia delirium, he'd managed to fight when the murderer held the pillow over his face. The blankets were kicked to the floor and the sheets crumpled. The brunt of the fight was evident in the pillow where the victim's nails had ripped the cotton seam allowing the filling to spew out.

The surveillance tapes seem to have been tampered with but perhaps we can recover the assailant's DNA from the cushion?" Lestrade sighed.

"Or perhaps we can question the guard?" John looked at Lestrade. "He knows more than he's admitting, I bet."


	4. Ch 4: Molly Solves a Mystery

**A/N: Not sure how much solving of a mystery is going on in this chapter - just wanted to give Molly a chance to boost her self-confidence. **

* * *

Molly Solves a Mystery

Casey was a successful writer. Thousands read her skilfully crafted prose – clearly she was talented.

"I can't imagine anyone wishing her dead," the writer's husband shook his head mournfully and indicated that the battered body on the slab was his former wife, Casey. "She spurned visitors when she was in the midst of her writing - might have upset a few people - not enough they'd want her dead though." He trudged off to make funeral arrangements while Molly completed the standard examination.

~221b~

As usual, when something different arrived at the morgue, Sherlock dropped by to investigate. "Multiple fractured ribs, cracked skull, broken legs, significant burn injuries – "

"She died secondary to head trauma," Molly interrupted the detective's monologue, "I am quite capable with this case here, you know. You shouldn't be out anyway." She gave him a strict yet concerned glance. "Severe thunderstorm outside, getting worse. Use your brain. Go home."

Sherlock pretended not to hear. "Interesting," he muttered. "Husband claims she was a writer?"

Molly nodded.

"But there are no calluses on her fingers from writing or typing. Her husband's hiding something." He gave Molly a triumphant smirk.

"Um…Sherlock," Molly hesitated. "He's telling the truth. I've read some of her writings. This woman was what her husband claimed; furthermore, her death was simply a tragic accident, I believe."


	5. Ch 5: To See Or Not To See

**A/N: Possible solution in the last chapter of this series. Welcome to give me feedback about other solutions. If you think this is too confusing, would like to know.**

* * *

To See Or Not To See

"But she's ninety-five years old! She couldn't possibly have seen H break into the safe while the family was gone." Lestrade walked over to the window in Grandma's living room and gazed across the alley to the adjacent house where the theft had occurred. "She says a man matching the description of H switched on the light at approximately 2am. She happened to be awake waiting for her painkillers to kick-in. Her arthritic pains had flared due to the changing weather and disturbed her sleep."

Sherlock plopped down into the sofa Grandma claimed to have been sitting in when she witnessed the crime. "If it wasn't for those leafy Poplars delineating the border between the two houses, she would have been close enough to distinguish the burglar's features," Sherlock announced. "Was she wearing her glasses?" He jumped up and joined Lestrade at the window.

"Yes, but that still wouldn't have helped her see through the foliage..."

Ignoring Lestrade, Sherlock dashed down the steps and exited the back door of Grandma's house into a tiny alley, barely room for the slender poplars and garbage bins at the entrance.

Sherlock examined the ground. No footprints, just lots of trash scattered by the wind during the night. He looked up something on his phone then shouted triumphantly, "I know how she saw the burglar!


	6. Ch 6: A Locked Room Mystery

**A/N: Sorry, this is a really odd mystery. Apologise in advance for such a trivial murder. **

* * *

It was a rare moment. Mycroft and his brother, Sherlock, surveying the scene of a murder, together. Of course, the only reason Mycroft bothered was because it was interfering with his routine.

It was one of those "locked-room" mysteries. The couple, Orpheus and Eurydice, were dead. Their bodies, unscathed by any weapon, lay cold and lifeless, on the plush red carpet near the far corner opposite the office window just inches from the small ornately carved, wooden table.

"The door was locked when I entered my office. Surveillance indicates no one has entered or exited this morning except myself and my assistant," Mycroft said this without emotion. "They were dead when I arrived. There was nothing I could do to save them. Judging by the rigidity, death occurred less than an hour ago."

"Nothing's been disturbed except that glass bowl, knocked off the table and shattered." It was a statement rather than a question. Sherlock bent down sniffed the damp carpet where the bowl had fallen. "Water."

"Of course, it's water. What did you think it might be – poison?" Mycroft sniffed.

"So Anthea killed them?"

"Of course," Mycroft sighed.

"You sure you didn't contribute to their demise? Perhaps they were beginning to bore you," Sherlock's voice was cold.

"It was an accident. I didn't order hits on them," Mycroft glared back.

~221b~

**How did Orpheus and Eurydice die and why didn't the brothers pursue further criminal investigation?**


	7. Ch 7: Science & Molly Solve The Case

**A/N: This mini mystery is from ****johnsarmylady****. In return for writing this, she has promised another chapter to "101 Ways to Nearly Kill John Watson". I recommend you read her works, if you haven't already.**

* * *

"Oh, the paperwork!" Lestrade groaned as he surveyed the scene. An apparently healthy retiree lay dead inside the telephone box and, judging by the amount of blood, it looked like he'd bled to death. Lestrade noticed the man's vehicle parked nearby full of fishing paraphernalia. "Coming back from fishing," Lestrade presumed.

Anderson arrived and took in the situation. "Dead fisherman. Bloody puddle. Glass panes on the telephone box smashed with shards scattered outside. "Who was he calling?" The pathologist pointed to the phone's handle dangling off the hook. "And why not use his mobile?"

"His wife. But she doesn't know what happened either." Lestrade answered. "Battery was dead on his mobile."

Anderson rolled his eyes. "This case is easy! I can't believe you haven't solved it already. Clearly the victim died when he was calling his wife and described the size of the fish he'd caught as 'this big!'. His arms automatically flung wide and smashed the glass sides, slicing his wrists. Child's play," he triumphed with a smirk.

But, Anderson's theory dissolved under Molly's autopsy later. "He bled to death but not how you claim. It would have been impossible to flay one's wrists on broken glass and die within seconds like this man did - even with the blood thinners he was taking. More than just the glass broke."

* * *

**Answer will be posted at the end of Chapter 10.**


	8. Ch 8: Lestrade's Missing Socks

**A/N: PM if you want the answer sooner. Otherwise will post answer in next chapter. If anyone has ideas for future cases, please tell me. Looking for inspiration there!**

* * *

"Which one of you stole my Christmas socks that were in my office?" Lestrade glared at the suspects he'd found lurking suspiciously around NSY this Sunday. "I left them here yesterday so I'd have them for my kid's party tonight."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Why would I steal your socks? If I wanted festive footwear, I can have John's. He picked up a new pair last week."

"Because you ruined my last pair on an alligator," John looked over significantly as his flatmate.

"Crocodile," Sherlock corrected with an air of injured pride.

"Besides, I was just coming into the building, not leaving, when you found me," John defended. He looked over at Anderson. "Maybe he nicked your socks for his new girlfriend."

"What are you doing here on a Sunday, anyway?" Lestrade turned a suspicious eye to his pathologist who was not known for his overtime.

"I came to collect something I forgot on Friday," Anderson sneered, "not nick a pair of socks off your desk, Inspector!"

"And what were you doing around here, Sherlock?" Lestrade questioned just as the consulting genius was making a hasty retreat.

"None of your business," he called back.

"He was after this," John held up a flash drive with a grin. "He's been teaching me to pickpocket. But I know he wasn't your sock burglar."


	9. Ch 9: Sally Gets Her Man

This wasn't a climbing accident," Sergeant Sally Donovan stated as she glared at the dead woman's partner. "You said that the piton broke loose from the rock while she was descending this cliff?" She pointed to the almost sheer vertical granite wall in front her.

The partner nodded. "I was standing over there," he indicated a patch of shade 50 metres to Donovan's left, "the uppermost piton fell out, then it was just a matter of momentum, I think. The sudden load on the other anchors as her body fell sharply was too much, they popped out one by one, yanked out by the increasing force of her fall."

Sherlock and John bent over the crumpled heap of limbs and body splayed out on the loops of climbing rope, like a spider perched in the centre of her web. It didn't take an expert to deduce that she'd died instantly upon impact from a broken neck.

Sergeant Donovan's eyes narrowed harshly. She snapped a pair of metal handcuffs on the man.

"What are you doing?" he protested.

"I'm arresting you on suspicion of murder."

"But I didn't do anything," he spluttered.

"I doubt that," Donovan muttered.

John looked up at the sudden arrest. His eyes darted from Donovan to Sherlock.

Sherlock nodded tersely. "She's right for once. He deserves those bracelets."

* * *

Answer to previous chapter: Lestrade's Missing Socks

Anderson nicked the socks. He slipped up when he said he did not take the socks off Lestrade's desk. The DI had not mentioned where the socks had been in his office.


	10. Ch 10: Murder At The Office

**A/N: Thank you to all who have been following along on these little mind games. For now, the game continues. Not sure how many more I'll write, I'm hoping for twenty-one. We'll see...**

* * *

"Business man. Late forties. Separated from his wife." Sally briefed Lestrade on the preliminary facts of the case. "Looks like a suicide to me," she added.

Lestrade studied the victim. The upper body sprawled across the desk with a single gunshot wound through the skull. He'd died instantly. "Where's the note?"

"He didn't leave a note," Sally double-checked.

"And the murder weapon?"

"We haven't run ballistics but it appears that this pistol did the job." Sally looked down at the shiny black weapon resting on the desk close to the victim's right hand.

"Any reason why he might have wanted to kill himself?" Lestrade examined the victim closer. Gunpowder residue confirmed that the wound had been inflicted at close range, consistent with suicide. The calluses on the man's fingers and desk arrangement clearly indicated that he had been right-handed. Lestrade smiled briefly. Ever since that case of the blind banker, Dimmock had never failed to indicate handedness of the victim.

"Reasons why he might want to kill himself?"

"Don't know yet. Marital? Financial? He's separated from his spouse." Sally shrugged.

Lestrade noticed that the office safe was ajar. "And the safe?"

"It was empty when we arrived. Still waiting to interview the CEO to find out what was in it."

"Clearly something worth killing for. Check for fingerprints." Lestrade's phone beeped.

* * *

**Answer to Chapter 9 "Sally Gets Her Man": Obviously the victim's partner was lying. If the accident had happened the way he described, the rope should be lying on top of the body; rather than the other way around. **


	11. Ch 11: The American Client

**A/N: Answers in published in subsequent chapter**

* * *

The American was not well. The greenish hue on his face did not flatter his complexion. "I tell you – someone is trying to poison me," groaned the client. "Somehow - I don't know how - he managed to slip poison into my meal."

"Why didn't your pub buddies also get sick?" Sherlock was sceptical.

"I don't know. We all shared the same food. Perhaps it was in my drink?"

"What did you have?"

"Iced tea."

"And your friends?"

"There were two of us that had iced tea. I'm the only one sick. How did the poisoner add poison to my drink alone? I never left my glass unattended over the course of the evening and I only had that one drink. Tom, who downed two glasses from the same pitcher of tea like a parched camel, is perfectly well."

"Perhaps your food poisoning wasn't intentional? Maybe your body's not used to the water and this is just a passing traveller's GI thing," John interjected.

"I don't think so," the American shook his head. "I'm careful. I've never had problems on past visits."

Sherlock straightened up. "There are seven possible ways in which you may have ingested the poison – as indeed it most likely was. The question now - who was the real target in your group last night at the bar?"

* * *

Answer to Chapter 10 "Murder at the Office": If victim had really committed suicide, the shiny gun should have his fingerprints. Instead, killer wore gloves and left no fingerprints behind on the gun.


	12. Ch 12: The Birthday Party

**A/N: Answers are published in subsequent chapters**

* * *

"A shooting at a children's birthday party?!" Lestrade inspected the house and yard where less than 30 minutes ago a 50-kid birthday celebration, complete with balloon-making clown, rabbit hat-tricking magician, and lots of cake and ice cream was happening.

An eerie stillness hovered over the mess. Lestrade spotted a fluffy bunny tail under a bush. A few stray balloons floated away in the sky. Tons of paper plates with half-eaten pieces of cake decorated every conceivable surface. Melted ice-cream made the whole scene a landmine of stickiness.

Someone had shot a gun into the crowd of screaming youngsters. None died but it murdered the birthday spirit. Who had fired the gun? Where was he or she? Why had the shooter done it? And, where was the weapon?

Lestrade's men combed the swimming pool and yard. No gun. They search the house. No gun. The kids were clean. Only the cook, the clown, and the magician were left.

"It wasn't me. There's no gun in my kitchen," the cook claimed.

"Not me," the clown said. A search of his costume was futile.

"I can make rabbits disappear but not guns," the magician let Lestrade search his paraphernalia.

In spite of a thorough search, no gun was found. Even so, Lestrade had a hunch who fired the weapon and where it might be.

* * *

**Answer from Chapter 11, "The American Client": One option was that the poison was in the ice cubes. Tom, who guzzled his drinks before the ice had a chance to melt, was ok. The client, however, sipped his ice tea slowly and received the full dose of poison that was released as the ice melted.**


	13. Ch 13: The Missing Microscope

"Let me go!" Chester whined. His unruly red hair made him look younger than his 15 years.

"What are you doing in the lab?" John demanded.

"I was working on my science project for the school fair," the boy squeaked.

"And you're sure you didn't "borrow" the new microscope to examine your algae specimens?"

"I saw the janitor poking around the lab. He didn't look like he was cleaning. Maybe he wanted a new microscope?" Chester looked scared – even more so when Sherlock glared at him through narrowed eyes.

"It wasn't me," the janitor protested. "I don't care about microscopes. I have access 24/7 to this building. Why would I want to drag home such a cumbersome machine? I'd rather spend my time fishing with my son while the weather's good and he's on summer holiday."

"I wouldn't have noticed that it was missing except that I dropped by with Mr Trout, our biology teacher, to show him. It's new and he hadn't had a chance to try it," the principal explained.

"Maybe Trout's colleague took it home to test it?" John suggested.

"I don't think so. Trout's colleague is Ms. Fisher and she's not one to take a lot of work home with her."

"The suspect that's lying took the microscope," Sherlock spoke at last. "Let's go now. I'm bored."

* * *

Answer to Chapter 12, The Birthday Party:

Lestrade suspected the clown. With his costume he could easily have hidden a small weapon in his clothing. After firing, all he needed to do was attached the gun to a bunch of helium balloons and let the evidence float away into the sky. In the panic and chaos, none would be likely to notice until the gun was gone.


	14. Ch 14: The Cabin Mystery

John swatted another mosquito. "Remind me to wear repellent next time I agree to investigate a suspicious death in the woods," he grumbled to Sherlock who squatted over the victim's body examining it intently.

"Close the windows then, John." Sherlock stood up and strode across the room to a small table with two glasses. Sniffing, he sighed, "Scrubbed clean. Whoever poisoned the victim destroyed the evidence."

"But the windows are closed and the door is screened," John answered.

"Poisoner didn't come through the windows then." Sherlock replied absently. "Victim must have ingested the poison when he shared a glass with whoever visited last night."

Lestrade interjected. "Three people were seen coming to his cabin last night."

"I just came to return his hunting knife," James claimed. "Didn't even set foot inside the place."

"Wasn't me," Jack protested, "Just picked up the cucumbers that he promised. He left them on the front porch for me to pick up."

"I came by but he wasn't home when I knocked," Jason shrugged.

"Who's lying?" Lestrade puzzled. "One of them set foot inside long enough to share a poisoned drink."

Sherlock spoke up. "It's a long shot but it just might prove which of these men spent time in here last night."

John looked around. He couldn't see anything that the killer had left behind.

* * *

**A/N: Consider yourselves all excused from needing to answer Chapter 13 mystery. Apparently the answer won't work for most people as I have been informed that science fairs are not a real event in certain parts of the world... sorry, dear readers. I had no idea. Many fond memories myself of science fair projects. **

**Pseudo answer from Chapter 13 about missing microscope: Chester took the microscope. He was lying about working on his science project for school. It was still summer holidays. How could he have a science project already?! **


End file.
